


Who Dares to Disappoint

by afterandalasia



Category: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Genre: Bondage, Chains, Community: disney_kink, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face Slapping, Knifeplay, Paddling, Pegging, Punishment, Rape, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few or none who would dare to disappoint the Queen. When her Huntsman does so, she determines that revenge is in order, and decides to ensure that it is thorough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Dares to Disappoint

**Author's Note:**

> From the [prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=2335337#t2335337) at Disney Kink.

"Fool!"  
  
Her nails rake down his cheek, leaving lines of blood in their wake.  
  
"Imbecile!"  
  
The back of her hand across the other side of his face.  
  
" _Weakling_."  
  
Fingers, slender and pale but with a grip like steel, take hold of his chin and push his head back, tilting his eyes towards the ceiling, pressing the back of his head against the wall. The flat of a knife is pressed against his neck, so cold that it almost burns, sliding up over his Adam's apple until the edge is just beneath his chin.  
  
The Queen's eyes glitter as she sets her fury loose on him, manacled as he is in this room. It is not the dungeon, not that far gone, but it is stone and cold and lit with firelight, and there are no windows here. He has already been beaten, one eye almost swollen shut, his lips split and crusted with blood, ribs aching with each breath that he drags in. His shirt stripped from his body to reveal his heavyset, muscled form, he nevertheless cannot feel cold whilst in the burning force of her anger with him.  
  
"Did you think that I would not realise?" She whispers now, her voice low and deadly. "Did you think that I would not know what it was that you gave to me in the place of what should have been _her_ heart?"  
  
"Please, Your Majesty," he begs, mumbles, his mouth tasting of blood and bile, "please. Give me another chance. I will--"  
  
She slaps him again, releasing his chin to strike him so that his cheek is turned against the wall. He stands there, breathing heavily. "You incompetent fool, you and I both know that you are too weak to do so."  
  
The knife finally leaves his throat, and he shudders in relief, but all hope flees him when he hears a low, dangerous laugh. It echoes from the stone walls, sounding soft and rippling at first but darkening and harshening with each echo that comes until it runs talons down his spine. An unspeakable fear grips him, like a vice around his belly, as the tip of the knife is placed over his sternum, just pricking the skin. A drop of warm blood starts to trickle down the centre of his body, creeping slowly.  
  
"Look at me," says the Queen sweetly. He remains in place, turned aside, eyes squeezed tightly shut. " _Look at me._ "  
  
He turns, trembling, to face her. There is a smile upon her face, cold and beautiful as is she, as she slices down, just a short way, with the knife. He chokes on pain as a fresh trickle of blood begins to run down him.  
  
"You will never fail me again," she whispers. She scraps the blade along his belly, catching upon it a smear of blood like crushed berries. "You know that, do you not?"  
  
"I know, my Queen," he whispered, pleading in his voice.  
  
The knife lifts to her lips, her full red lips, and from between them emerges her tongue to slowly lick his blood from the blade. A spot of it smears against her chin, red on white, and he finds himself sickeningly aroused as she gives a moan of pleasure at the taste.  
  
"Don't worry," she says. "From now until your death, everything you do will be... perfect."

In her absence he is moved to another room, this time a bedchamber. He is shaved, groomed, stripped and bound, bent over the foot of the bed with his legs spread, utterly exposed. He can see some sort of case bought into the room by two servants and set down, but it is not opened, and he waits in trembling terror for the door to open and her to enter.  
  
Finally she does so, clad only in a loose robe, the fabric so thin that he can see the shadowed outline of her body through it. His body betrays him in arousal at the sight as she kneels before him, tilts his chin up to face her, smirks at the sight of him before her. "At last, it seems, you will serve some purpose." Her breasts hang full against the fabric of her robe, nipples hard, fabric slipping to expose the smooth pale skin of her shoulders, her chest. He grits his teeth as she rises to her feet again, slipping away from his view, and he hears the opening of the chest behind him.  
  
Something smooth and hard comes to rest lightly against the exposed cheeks of his ass. "First," said the Queen from behind him, "you will count for me."  
  
He is about to question her when the first blow comes, cracking against his skin. He gasps.  
  
"Count," says the Queen.  
  
A second blow.  
  
"O-one," he manages.  
  
"Better."  
  
A third blow, and then a fourth, and soon it is all that he can do to count as the paddle comes to strike him over and over again. It is not long before he is raw, throbbing, his ass and the backs of his thighs burning in the air as she runs her cool hand over them and he almost sobs the number fifty, and she slaps him once more with the flat of her hand for good measure and laughs when he shudders.  
  
Again he hears her cross to the chest, then again return, and now cool oil is being slicked over his aching skin. He whimpers, helpless, as her fingers press hard into his skin but at the same time are drawing the burning out of him.  
  
"Tell me," she says, voice cool and even, "how many women you have fucked."  
  
"Your Majesty--" he chokes, and she slaps him once again, making him yelp.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
He swallows his humiliation. "Five, Your Majesty."  
  
"Five." She sounds as if she is rolling the words in her mouth, amused, Her fingers slip further down his ass, flicking over the hole there, and he gasps. "And have any, woman or man, ever fucked you?"  
  
He whimpers as she slides a finger into him, and she laughs.  
  
"No, then." Her finger hooks, pulling gently at him, and against himself he gives a moan. His cock, already hard between his thighs, bumps against the bedsheets for a moment, then he feels her other hand wrapping around him, squeezing, until it is almost painful. She whispers: "We will change that."  
  
He feels another finger slip into him, and moans again, although there is pain as well as pleasure there. Then they are withdrawn, leaving cold, and he sags in his bonds for a moment. His head comes to rest against the bed, and he tries to peer round, seeing from the corner of his eye her pale body as she removes the robe and lets it pool to the floor. She is so beautiful, so fair indeed, and despite everything his eyes devour the sight of her breasts, her ass, the curls that cover her cunt as she turns to face him again. Then the object in her hands comes into focus, and he feels his throat go dry: a wooden phallus, leather straps dangling from it.  
  
"Are you watching?" asks the Queen, amusement in her voice. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in the covers of the bed. She continues nonetheless: "You see, there are many, _many_ ways of using you... perhaps we can find some use for your worthless body."  
  
Suddenly she is behind him again, and he feels the wooden phallus brushing against his ass, then butting, gently at first, at the hole between.  
  
"After all, I do not want you to be a total waste..."

She slides into him, and he cries out at the sudden stretching of his flesh, trying to pull away from her. A dark laugh sounds behind him, and strong fingers wrap around his hips. He bites down on the fabric beneath him as she thrusts into him over and over again, so hard that her hips against his bruised ass send fresh throbs of pain through him, so rough that he lingers constantly on the edge of pain. Her nails dig into his flesh and she scours lines down his sides, then he feels scratching on his back and shoulders and his back is afire. But still his body betrays him, and with each thrust his erect cock is pushed against the fabric of the coverlet, engorged and aching, the fabric rough against the sensitive flesh.  
  
"Oh, yesssss..." the Queen hisses, and he groans through his clenched jaw as something changes, her thrusts becoming firm and distinct, and before he knows it he is crying out like a whore as he is fucked, and coming in hot streaks across the coverlet and smeared across his own belly where he is tied. And even after she keeps pounding into him, until pleasure becomes pain, and as the pain joins humiliation he starts to sob afresh.  
  
Finally she withdraws from him, and he wishes that he could hide from her, but still his nakedness is displayed to her keen eyes, her prying fingers, as she feels his now-flaccid member.  
  
The wood of the bed creaks, and he looks up to see her kneeling before him again, the phallus removed now to reveal her woman's body again. His jaw trembles, and he tries to look away, but again her hand slides beneath his chin to hold him there. "Ah ah," the Queen chides. "Now you need to return the favour. It's no use to me if only you spend yourself, after all."  
  
She slides closer, one hand between her thighs, parting the black hair there to reveal her glistening cunt beneath. He can smell her skin, her perfume, and as her hand moves to the back of his head and pulls him down onto her he bows to her desire. She is already wet as he puts his tongue to work, following the orders as they leave her lips for _faster_ , _harder_ , _lower_. The sweet-musk taste of her sends shivers down his spine as he flicks his tongue over her clitoris and her hips buck, her fingers twining painfully tight in his hair.  
  
"Yes," she says. "There. _There_."  
  
The nails on the back of his neck, his jaw beginning to ache from the awkward angle of his neck and the movement of his tongue, tasting his own tears as well as her juices, but then she cries out and he feels her shuddering to climax, and prays that this is his salvation, that he will be spared.  
  
Her nails scrape across his neck as she draws away, tossing back her head and licking those ripe red lips. He looks up from beneath his hair, tasting her still on his tongue, desperation in his eyes.  
  
"Please, Your Majesty," he begs, "let me live."  
  
For a moment she ignores him, kneeling on the bed, one hand running down between her thighs and coming away slickly gleaming. She holds her hand up to the light for a moment, watching it shine, then wipes it on the bedclothes and looks down at him once again, that cruel smile back on her lips. From beneath the pillow she draws a strip of cloth, and before he can understand she has moved and is straddling his back, her thighs either side of him, and the cloth is around his throat.  
  
He gags, cries out, but then the fabric tightens painfully and he can cry out no more as the air leaves his lungs and his head begins to pound. And the last thing that he hears, before blackness fills his vision, is his Queen's reply:  
  
"None live who disappoint me."


End file.
